


Run-On Sentence

by franxisss



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franxisss/pseuds/franxisss
Summary: Alfred is a psychiatrist assigned to the case of inpatient Arthur Kirkland; who is rumored to be hopeless in treatment. Alfred breaks him, but when he’s suddenly wrongfully discharged, he doesn’t know how he can legally help Arthur anymore.





	Run-On Sentence

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Mention of suicide, description of graphic violent death, mention of drug overdose, graphic description of car accident, description of intense inpatient therapy, sexual intercourse

Arthur sat on the soft loveseat with a grim look. The man across from him offered the ottoman for Arthur to rest his feet, but the Englishman declined with pained silence.

“I see,” the other man mumbled. Arthur noted his American accent. “Again, Mr. Kirkland, all of us here do apologize for the lack of communication. If you need more clarification, I can surely--”

“I don’t need it to be clarified that my previous counselor wanted nothing to do with me due to ‘my stubborn behavior’, thank you very much.”

“...Mhm.” It was all the man could respond with, crossing one leg over the other across from Arthur. “That’s certainly something we could - and should - address. But, maybe not right now?”

Suddenly, the man had a wide smile and offered a hand across the table. “My name is Alfred. You can call me whatever you’d like, and I assure you, I will be your permanent counselor. Unless of course you would like another.”

“I just might,” Arthur barked, denying Alfred’s hand to shake. The comment left another frustrated, and ‘what do I do now?’ look on Alfred’s face. Arthur liked it. “I’m assuming you’re new to the trade, seeing as you look like you’re straining to read cue cards.”

“I’m not, though, and I apologize that it seems that way.” Alfred sighed, before his eyes widened. “I’m not- Reading cue cards! I mean. Yeah. I do need to disclose, however, that you’re correct in your theory of me being new. You’re my first, actually.”

“I didn’t think it was legal for therapists to have sex with their institutionalized patients.”

“Well-” Alfred sucked in sharply. “It’s..not...really legal to have sex with any patients, regardless of inpatient or outpatient. But, that’s not my point,” Alfred sighed. This meeting did not start the way he had hoped, but he had been told of Arthur’s stubborn nature.

He had been told...everything, really. It took a four-hour closed door meeting to brief Alfred on Arthur’s past, and now it was as if Alfred had known the Brit for his entire life. And Arthur’s life was not a pretty one.

“Arthur,” Alfred sighed, leaning forward just a bit. “I should...also disclose that my colleagues have not spoken very highly of you,” He sighed. “They’ve told you that they weren’t permanent, and I understand your confusion because they were. They simply abandoned you, Arthur.”

Arthur responded to the harsh candor Alfred layed on the table. But it wasn’t a negative response.

“They did.” Arthur whispered. His fingers curled and picked at loose threads of his sweater’s sleeve. He wore the same garments that everyone else in the building did; a grey sweatshirt with a blue linen underneath, and baggy grey sweats. It was supposed to be comfortable.

“They did,” Alfred repeated, and he kept his voice stern, “They did, Arthur, but I’m not going to. You’ve had enough of that, don’t you think?”

“I have.” Arthur responded, but it took a long time. Alfred was pleased to see that he had apparently sedated the aggressive side of Arthur’s responses.

“I think recovery is possible,” Alfred smiled, “Especially for you, Arthur. I just think everyone else has been too much of an asshole to really help you through it. God has laid it thick on you, you’ve been treated like shit, Arthur.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

“That’s okay,” Alfred seemed relieved, “I don’t either.”

“Then why did you say that?”

“I kinda have to,” Alfred sighed. “If you wanna see, I have a really long checklist of techniques that they make me check off with any new clients to help me crack them. God is one. But I can tell you don’t believe.”

“...What helped you with me?”

“Being blunt,” Alfred smiled. “You don’t like things to be sugar coated because your life hasn’t had much of that in the past. I think you feel most comfortable when things are stated how they are. Am I correct?”

Arthur responded with another several-second pause. “You are.”

“That’s great,” the therapist grinned, “See? I’ve already made more progress than my colleagues. So, let’s make some more.”

Alfred’s serious look returned. “You’re about four years older than I am, and I’m a fully licensed therapist at twenty-seven. You, however, are thirty-one-year-old man who literally has nothing to do in life. If your past had played out differently, where would you be now?”

“First of all, you’re not a therapist. You’re a psychiatrist.” Arthur huffed, crossing his arms.

“You’d be right. What tells you that?”

“Your only goal is to find out what pills to shove down my throat to make me normal.”

“Well, you’d also be right, Arthur,” Alfred sighed. “And I can tell that you fucking hate me. But the more you let me in, the less sessions I can do that in, and you’ll never have to see or talk to me or anyone like me again.”

“You’re full of shit,” Arthur growled, turning his face away. “But I don’t hate you.”

“Arthur,” Alfred sighed. “Back to the question.”

“No!” Arthur almost stood up. Almost. He had done that before, with a previous counselor, and he had been strapped down to his bed afterwards for ‘trying to kill someone’. “No, I won’t answer until you tell me why you think I hate you.”

“I…” Alfred didn’t know how to answer. Because really, he already knew that wasn’t how Arthur felt. “I don’t know. It was another tactic.”

“Exactly,” Arthur huffed, letting himself relax again. “Because that’s all I am to you. A puzzle. You have a list of different directions to look at me from and hopefully-maybe-probably one day you’ll solve it. How much am I worth to you?”

“$150,000.”

Arthur was stunned. He had answered, and honestly. Alfred seemed proud.

“Your case is worth a lot of money, Arthur, but that’s not really my incentive.” Alfred looked pained. “They told me that, when you were a little boy, you liked boats a lot. Bigger ones, like salvage tugs.”

“Actually,” Alfred smiled, “That’s where it all began, huh? A little salvage tug called Ghost. She was very pretty, and one of your favorites. And you begged and you begged and you begged your father to take you out for a sail, even just a short one. And he finally gave in, and you were out at sea for seventeen minutes and when the boat docked again you were the only beating heart on that tug.”

Arthur suddenly looked as if he’d cry.

“You felt like it was your fault. You told everyone that you felt like it was your fault, and you were angry because nobody would let you feel that way. They all told you that you were wrong and sometimes ‘accidents happen’.”

Arthur winced, and Alfred knew why.

“You hate that phrase, you hate it with every beat of your heart because a lot of accidents have surrounded you for your whole life. And each one, logically, was your fault Arthur. You want to take responsibility for the deaths you think you’ve caused, and no one has let you.”

“So what?” Arthur mumbled, hiding his face in his sleeve so that he couldn’t see the tremble in his lower lip.

“I want to let you, Arthur.” Alfred breathed out deeply. “If there was one really long word that you could think of to describe everything you’ve never been allowed to say, or one really fucking long sentence, what would it be?”

“It would be that everyone knows what I was responsible for and,” Arthur began to spill and Alfred quickly turned off the recorder on the table, he knew Arthur would censor himself if he knew other people would hear.

“It would be that everyone knows what I was responsible for and they hate me for it and the only way they know how to deal with it is by denying me my apologies and never ever letting me say sorry because they know I’m right but all I want to fucking do is say sorry, I want to say sorry for everything Alfred, because --” He took a deep breath but he wasn’t done.

“-- Because everything that’s ever happened was my fault, I have no one left and that’s my fault and it’s my fault that I’m here and it’s my fault that I’ll never leave and it’s my fault that everyone here won’t even let me say sorry.”

“You can say sorry, Arthur,” Alfred smiled. “In fact, I think you just did. And it really helps me, and it really helps you. Doesn’t it?”

Arthur took a moment to catch his breath after nodding. “Yeah, it- It does.”

“I, again, I think recovery is possible for you. And I think it’s very possible without medication.” Alfred smiled. “I think you just needed to say sorry. So, tell me, Arthur,” he paused, grabbing a notebook. “Where would you be if everyone had let you say sorry?”

\---

Arthur was a beautiful person. Their first session had lasted nearly five hours. That was the great thing about committed inpatient therapy, Alfred could listen for as long as Arthur needed to talk and not worry about time schedules. Arthur sure as hell didn’t have a life to return to, and as far as Alfred was concerned, neither did he until Arthur was a free man.

He had lots of interests. Boats were still one of them. Arthur indulged Alfred in letting him know that he would one day like to live on the water, permanently, with no real destination. He told him that the way the water looked behind a running engine would engage him in thoughts for hours.

Alfred made a note to have a small water feature installed in Arthur’s room if it helped him think that much.

Arthur actually had a pretty snarky sense of humor that Alfred absolutely adored. It took a long time before Alfred realized that Arthur had let down a really big wall for Alfred; that the Arthur he was speaking to now was probably one that no one else had spoken to for a really long time.

After seven months of daily meetings, Alfred had his last with Arthur. And he didn’t know it was his last until two hours later.

“You did it, Jones,” The man smiled and clapped a large hand over his employee’s back. Alfred was confused.

“What exactly did I do?”

“You closed the Kirkland case.”

All at once, Alfred felt his heart, lungs, and any other bodily-function stop. It was closed? Arthur’s case was closed? No, that wasn’t right. That would mess everything up.

“No, I didn’t,” Alfred said with a concerned stutter. “I never put in a final treatment plan, and if I had I certainly would not have recommended him for release!”

“Well no, technically you didn’t put it in. I did. But I think he’s fine to be let out. He doesn’t try to kick the nurses who bring him his lunch anymore.”

“You don’t fucking understand!” Alfred shouted, he was angry. “Have you not paid attention to any of my notes?! He has no one, no one else to trust, I was the first person he let in! I was the first person he allowed himself to feel comfortable with, and if you tell him that he can never see me again it will collapse everything. He is not ready to take care of himself yet.”

Alfred could feel his entire body tremble with rage, and he felt like he could run his fist through his computer monitor. His boss looked shocked and just before Alfred was about to lay it on him again, he saw Arthur.

Arthur, being let into a cab from the front entrance of the hospital. Their eyes met and Alfred’s anger suddenly turned into intense sadness. He felt his heart break at the look Arthur gave him, and when he saw the Englishman shake his head before disappearing behind the door of the cab, Alfred slammed himself back down into his seat.

“I think you need to go home, Jones--”

“I think you need to let me do my fucking job.” Alfred growled, sitting up back towards his keyboard. “Arthur was not ready to be discharged. You were not his fucking doctor, you haven’t spent over 700 hours in a room with that man, you had no legal right to discharge him without discussing it with me! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Alfred was the one who now felt hopeless. There was no legal way he could contact Arthur. The only thing he could do was find an excuse to call an ambulance for the man and he knew that would only make things worse.

What could he do, now?

\---

Arthur sat in the back of the cab that brought him home. It was a very tiny two-bedroom home that had been in his family for generations. He no longer had to worry about payments, but the second Arthur stepped inside, he felt like he could scream.

He, of course, had been told that Alfred discharged him. That the man he came to trust so closely had simply said it was time for him to leave and didn’t even give him a chance to say goodbye.

He clutched that reality close to his chest with the discharge papers that he had been given.

 **Patient Name:** Arthur James Kirkland  
**Patient’s Previous Status:** Inpatient  
**Patient’s Current Status:** Outpatient

 **Current Status Provided and Signed by:** Licensed PhD Psychiatrist Alfred Fitzgerald Jones

 **Medication Recommended** : N/A  
**Outpatient Therapy Recommended:** Yes  
**Outpatient Therapy Frequency Recommended:** Weekly  
**New Outpatient Psychiatrist:** TBD

 **Patient’s History:** Arthur witnessed the brutal death of his father at age seven whilst on a salvage tug in which his father was decapitated by a cord on the ship. Arthur was handed over to his widowed mother. In her depression Arthur later witnessed the death of his mother by overdose on SSRI antidepressant pills which Arthur was responsible for administering to her daily at the age of thirteen. Arthur admitted to authorities that he only brought the pill jar to his mother, daily, and that he had abandoned to make sure she took the right amount.

At age seventeen Arthur was involved in a car accident which was the result of a severe trauma-induced panic attack he experienced whilst driving a friend to school. The car was hurled from the edge of an onramp into oncoming freeway traffic. His friend was killed instantly on impact. Arthur was judged not-guilty of vehicular manslaughter on the terms that his therapist had not properly deemed him unfit-to-drive, despite his diagnostic status of PTSD, and Arthur had attained his driver’s license one-hundred-percent legally.

After the accident Arthur was placed on two-week inpatient ‘suicide watch’ a month later after he was admitted to the hospital for what appeared to be an intentional overdose. Arthur was released from ‘suicide watch’ status two weeks later, but was soon admitted to another ‘suicide watch’ status only four days later.

At the age of twenty-six, with a record of fifteen attempted suicides, Arthur was admitted to a long-term psychiatric institution. He was cared for by nurses and brought medicine daily. He was put under the care of nearly seventy different therapists until he was finally discharged at the age of thirty-one by PhD Psychiatrist Alfred Fitzgerald Jones on this third day of September, 2018.

Further updates on patient Arthur James Kirkland will be provided through future outpatient therapy, recommended by PhD Psychiatrist Alfred Fitzgerald Jones or future mental-health-related hospitalizations.

 **Signed (Electronically):** PhD Psychiatrist Alfred Fitzgerald Jones  
**Signed** : _____________

Arthur noticed that Alfred’s physical signature was missing. There was a possibility that Alfred had never even seen this paper; maybe this was all wrong?

But, no. This was a copy. Alfred had to have written this.

Right?

\---

Alfred read over Arthur’s discharge papers in disgust, sitting in his own living room. His name was written so many times on that paper, and he had never approved or signed electronically.

Electronically.

His boss had signed Alfred’s name electronically on a discharge treatment plan that Alfred himself had not written. That was illegal. That was very illegal.

So if his boss wasn’t going to play this by the rules, why should he?

Alfred snatched Arthur’s patient profile from his filing cabinet, looking over it. It contained a photograph of Arthur, paperclipped to the creme file, as well as Arthur’s basic information and the papers he had signed years ago.

PATIENT ADDRESS: 2325 Heryford Ln, Redding

Alfred knew what to set in his GPS.

\---

Arthur nearly jumped when he heard the doorbell ring. For a second, he didn’t know what it was. But when he answered the door, he was shocked.

“I did not sign that paper, Arthur, I swear to god-”

“Oh, really?” Arthur scowled angrily. “I’m not sure that’s exactly legal.”

“It isn’t, Arthur, it really isn’t and that’s why I gotta talk to you. Arthur, my boss signed everything off. Without telling me.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about that?”

“You still need a hospital, Arthur!” Alfred exclaimed, exasperated, “You still need me. Come back with me, and I can continue helping you--”

“I don’t think I need a hospital, Alfred, I think-”

“You do, Arthur. You very much do, can you please let me--”

“Can you please let me finish?!” Arthur huffed. When Alfred reluctantly gave a respectful pause, he continued. “I don’t think I need a hospital anymore, Alfred. I think I’m ready to feed myself and bathe myself and take care of myself...But...I do think I still need you.”

“Arthur,” Alfred cooed, “You- You don’t understand. I’m not certified for outpatient therapy, I don’t know how to deal with time limits, or-”

“Then maybe not as my therapist,” Arthur frowned, finally allowing him insides. “Just friends. I just need a friend, Alfred, I don’t have anyone but myself to talk to and you know what that does..”

“That’s not legal, Arthur--”

“You hunting down my address and coming here and shouting at me isn’t legal, either.” Arthur corrected with a small pout. “And, as a psychiatrist, are you honestly not allowed to make friends?”

“It..It leaves room for bias,” Alfred frowned. “If I have a patient, I can’t talk to them outside of therapy. Even if they’re not my patient anymore. It leaves room for favoritism, and it could start to impact the way I deal with future patients.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Arthur growled, stepping closer. His chest was against Alfred’s. “Because even people like you need people like me.”

He could tell the gesture was something that Alfred wasn’t opposed to. He seems to relax a bit. “Alfred, I really think I’m fine. We can leave it how it is, my diagnosis..I’m fine with it, I really am, but I won’t be fine if you abandon me now.”

Nobody had to know, right? Nobody had to know that Arthur was someone that Alfred cared for so much. Nobody had to know that he’s standing in Arthur’s hallway, sharing the same breaths, and- And nobody had to know that in a moment of passionate deliberation, Alfred leaned forward and pressed his lips against Arthur’s with such care and intent and love.

And nobody had to know that Arthur kissed him back.

“Alfred,” Arthur mumbled between short breaths as he kicked the front door shut and stumbled further into the house with him.

“Okay, Arthur,” Alfred made his decision there. “If we’re- If we’re going to leave it as it is and I’m gonna stay in your life as not-your-therapist,” Alfred held Arthur against a wall besides a small doorframe, and he noted that the door led to a bedroom.

“I don’t want to leave it just as friends, because I’m kinda, like- Really into you-”

“I could tell,” Arthur whispered, pulling Alfred into the bedroom and tossing him back on the bed. “That slang doesn’t sound very PhD of you, Doctor.”

“Don’t call me that, you make me feel so dirty-” Alfred groaned, adjusting himself as Arthur crawled on top of him. This felt like it was a dream. “I don’t want to be your doctor anymore, I just want to be yours.”

He proved that to Arthur when he flipped the both of them over and pressed the Breton deep into the mattress and begun to remove his clothes. Those awful, stiff grey sweats. The same garments he had seen Arthur in for nearly a year.

The same garments that he had dreamt of tearing off during lonely nights previous.

Arthur’s body was beautiful underneath, and it showed when Arthur felt Alfred’s erection pressing against his inner thigh.

“No- No condoms, or- Lube-” Arthur muttered, shuddering when Alfred began to shuffle those sweatpants off.

“I know, we don’t need them,” Alfred kissed Arthur’s neck. “We- We can’t do any real sex, like- Penetration tonight, because we don’t have them,” He huffed breathlessly in between kisses.

“But I’m still gonna make you feel amazing, Arthur.”

Arthur had been disclosing the way he felt to Alfred for months, in the form of long closed-door therapy sessions. But now he disclosed the way he felt to Alfred in sharp moans when the American flipped them over.

He heard Alfred’s jeans hit the bedroom floor, and felt something wet, most likely saliva, slipping between his thighs as Alfred used it as makeshift lubricant. And suddenly, the American’s cock was there.

“Alfred,” Arthur called out, absolutely writhing with pleasure. Alfred had wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking, while the American pounded his own member in between Arthur’s thighs with a passionate ferocity.

“Alfred, it’s been so long, I’m not going to last- Oh, fuck, I’m not going to last! Alfred!” Arthur cried, squeezing his eyes shut as Alfred’s hand tightened around his weeping member.

“Fuck, Arthur, I wish I could be inside of you right now?” Alfred growled, possessive. The lower octave of his voice turned Arthur on so much, and he whined when Alfred began to thrust faster. “One day- One day soon, I’ll have the right stuff, and I’ll pound your fucking lights out.”

“You will,” Arthur muttered with a smile. “And- And I’ll gladly return the fa- Ah! - favor! Oh- Oh, fuck, Alfred!!” Arthur called out, his thighs tensing up as he trembles immense pleasure as he orgasms, and soon he felt Alfred’s fluids as well.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Alfred panted, relaxing on the bed next to Arthur. “It’s- That was...That was really good.”

“Indeed it was,” Arthur giggled, huddling a bit closer to Alfred.

\---

Alfred was only able to keep his relationship with Arthur a secret for a few months. Though, plagued by his own memories of doing things not-so-legally, Alfred’s boss didn't put in a second word when he found out. Arthur seemed to be doing fine and he didn't want to ruin that.

Arthur was doing fine. It was made clear when he allowed Alfred to take him to the docks for a date one night. They sat at the edge of the bridge, eating cheap snacks and sipping on dollar-store wine. Arthur knew Alfred could afford more, but this was all he wanted.

Alfred paused when a small salvage tug took sail. He could feel Arthur’s grip on his wrist. He wrapped a supportive arm around the Englishman; there was no way on Earth he’d ever be able to understand the things Arthur had been through.

Instead of the small breakdown Alfred expected, Arthur actually smiled.

“Pretty one,” Arthur commented, gesturing towards the tug. “She’s got a powerful engine for such a small tug. I don’t think she’s meant for big rescues, either. Probably just dives.”

Alfred listened with interest, and adopted a small smile at Arthur’s next comment, surefire proof that Arthur had already made leaps of progress on his road to recovery.

“...Maybe one day, I’ll sail one.”

Too many people had said Arthur was hopeless. For a long time Arthur had been told that he’d be in that hospital forever.

But now, they both could tell:

Even when it came to someone as stubborn as Arthur, and even when it comes to such horrible things, recovery is always possible.


End file.
